


Viewer Discretion is Advised

by Deepdarkwaters



Series: Bespoke [9]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fluff, M/M, Obedience, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/pseuds/Deepdarkwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin talks Galahad and Gawain through a mission in Riga, and then talks Harry and Eggsy through something else at the hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaychel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/gifts).



In all the years Merlin's been watching fights from the multiple angles of CCTV and moving glasses, it's only become marginally easier to follow what's going on – especially when the agents fighting are Harry, spinning and ducking and taking out the enemy with expert precision as though he's not spent most of the last year recovering from a gunshot to the head, and Eggsy at his back, fluid and brutal. Where Harry is all economical finesse, thirty-plus years of experience giving him an easy path around any block, Eggsy is clever tricks and brute strength: Merlin watches him break a guy's neck between the twist of his forearms and then heft the limp body up in front of himself and Harry as a shield when someone else starts firing a gun.

"Use your lighter," Merlin says over their comms line. "Suggest you take them down and get out of there."

"Negative, they still got the vault key," Eggsy says, then, "Galahad, here," and holds his free arm up so Harry can hit the trigger on his watch to fire a round of stun darts at the gunman.

"Abort," Merlin instructs. "It's a key, it's not worth your lives"—but even as he says it he sees Harry recoil from something, and the flood of adrenaline makes him jump up so fast that his chair rockets back halfway across the room on its wheels. "Galahad, status?"

"It's nothing, I think a bullet chipped a brick," Harry says calmly – but the other screen is a frenzy of motion now, Eggsy deflecting bullets with a gymnast's grace so everything aimed at his head lands harmlessly in his sleeve or back, then ploughing into the middle of the remaining thugs like an obliterating wrecking ball and taking them down in seconds.

"Alright, Gawain, that's enough," Merlin says firmly in his ear. "Leave me enough face to put through the recognition program, if you please."

When Eggsy finally processes the words and stops punching the corpse, his hands are bloodstained to the cuffs and there's a red mess of specks and drips on his face, one of them suddenly succumbing to its own weight and tumbling down his cheek like a teardrop. He looks magnificent, in a slightly terrifying sort of way – a diamond-hard blankness in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw twitching and tensing – until Harry touches his shoulder gently and Eggsy startles, looking up and right into Harry's, and Merlin's, eyes.

"You alright?" he asks. Merlin can see him relax very slightly in tiny increments as he's staring at Harry's face, checking him all over. His hand stutters as though he's about to touch Harry's cheek before he changes his mind and drops it to his side again. "Fucking hell, you're bleeding."

"Just a speck of the wall, I think." Through Eggsy's glasses camera, Merlin can see the twist of myriad things in Harry's eyes as well – there's a reassuring smile there crinkling at the corners, but Merlin's known him for decades now and it only took him a fraction of that time to learn what Harry looks like when he's frightened. The cut is just below the shiny patch of scar tissue left over from his reconstructive surgery. Of course it fucking would have to be there.

"Clean up's on their way," Merlin tells them as he's retrieving his chair and trying to breathe more steadily, willing down the awful rapid thud of his heart. "Fetch me that key now and go and get some rest."

* * *

Harry leaves his glasses propped against a stack of towels in the bathroom so Merlin can watch him shower off all the grime and blood of the stakeout from the comfort of the private rooms they share when they stay overnight at HQ. He's just a vague beige blur through the frosted glass of the cubicle, but it's reassuring to have him there on the other screen to glance at every now and then as Merlin's finishing off his report: moving, here, _alive_. They always knew his first job back in the field after nearly a year off was going to be unnerving, like the first step of an abseil. The next will be easier, and the next.

There's a soft little _ding_ from his computer, the tone set to sound whenever Gawain makes contact through his glasses. Merlin clicks the window up, minimised and silenced until now to give Eggsy some privacy, and it's filled with what looks like the view from the bed: tasteful cream and sage walls, antique furniture set up in a mirror image of Harry's room next door, adequately competent oil paintings in huge gilt frames.

"Gawain?"

"Eggsy. I'm off duty."

"Very well. Eggsy."

A deep, slow huff of a sigh. "It don't matter, really. You probably got shitloads to do, yeah, I'll leave you to it."

"Eggsy, I've been sitting at a desk for sixteen hours. If that's not enough to earn me a break I'll go and hand in my notice right now."

That makes him laugh quietly. "Yeah, right. Only way you're leaving that place is in your box when they bury you."

"There's a nice wee chapel in the woods on the grounds, actually. Deconsecrated, falling to bits, but there's space in the graveyard. Had my eye on that a few decades now."

"Well that ain't totally fucking morbid or nothing." Eggsy shifts on the bed, moves from sitting up against the pillows to lying on his back, chin tucked down so Merlin can see his legs in old grey marl trackies crossed at the ankle. His feet are bare and still look flushed from his shower. "Merlin?"

"Eggsy."

"You got a secret for keeping your shit together when Harry's in danger?"

The question startles him: it's not as though he hasn't known for ages that Harry's taken up permanent residence in Eggsy's thoughts, but the fact of it being spoken so plainly like this is new.

"Cos," Eggsy goes on slowly, as though he didn't really have a plan for what he wanted to say before he opened his mouth and started spilling, "like I know he's been doing this since Henry the eighth or whatever, and so have you—"

"Beg your pardon?" Merlin interrupts.

"Sorry." He's laughing. It's weirdly wonderful: he's calming and Merlin can actually _hear_ it happening like a piece of music being played. "Just I mean, like, you pair know what you're doing, I'm still gonna be learning this job when I'm your age, I reckon—"

"Christ, Eggsy, how old do you think we are?"

" _Sorry_ , sorry. I'll just shut up, yeah." A resolution that lasts half a second at most before he's gabbing again, shuffling on the bed trying to get comfortable and re-crossing his legs the other way. "Just, I know you and Harry are like"—he makes an entirely unnecessary finger-into-fist hand gesture in front of his glasses—"and I'm just some lucky pleb getting to work with you, so you gotta be stressing way more than me. But I still, you know. Stress."

Merlin wishes Harry didn't take such long, indulgent showers. This is a conversation he'll really, really hate to have missed.

"Like. Fuck, this is fucking awkward." Eggsy's voice fades off for a while. Merlin watches him twist onto his side to have a drink from the Evian bottle on his bedside table, slow little sips as though he's doing it to waste time instead of because he's thirsty. "I just, I _know_ Harry's ready to come back, he's a fucking genius, he can do anything he wants, only I was so on edge today I could've thrown the mission. But actually I'm glad it's me here with him instead of anybody else cos..." Another long pause for unnecessary water sips. "You know already, right? Pretty sure I'd fucking die to keep him safe."

(Harry last night, slick with sweat and come and shuddering in Merlin's arms with a fake cock still snug inside of him and bite marks on his shoulders: _It's on your head if you want to send me off on a mission with him. You know perfectly well I'd fucking die for that boy if it came to it._ )

"I mean," Eggsy goes on miserably, "obviously I ain't making a move on your boyfriend or nothing—"

"How polite of you," Merlin says graciously. On the other screen, Harry gets out of the shower, grabs his glasses, and swoops the tiny camera lens towards his cock with all the effervescent glee of a parent playing the aeroplane game with a spoonful of baby food, because Harry is a disgusting fool.

"—just, I wanted you to know. If shit's gonna happen then it will, but I swear if something goes wrong again it won't be cos I never fucking fought for him, alright?"

"I know," Merlin says. There's a fondness in his voice that he's not entirely comfortable with, just a little bit too blatant for his own liking. "Christ, Eggsy, we've all known for months."

"That obvious, hey."

"You might as well wear a sandwich board to meetings."

"Fuck." Nobody's ever sounded so dismayed about anything before. "Well, I'm gonna sign off now before I fucking die of embarrassment. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Bright and early. Goodnight, Eggsy."

"Merlin, can I put pay per view porn on expenses?"

" _Goodnight_ , Eggsy."

The window goes black, cutting Eggsy's laughter short when he switches off his glasses. Harry's video feed is showing his hands now, the strip of skin where his watch usually lies glowing stark and pale in the soft lamplight as he pours himself his usual cognac nightcap.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough." Harry's hands aren't shaking, he's far too good at self-control for nonsense like that, but there's a gorgeous brimming sort of wonder in his voice and Merlin needs to see him suddenly, needs to see more than just Harry's long lovely fingers curled around a glass.

"Mirror," he commands softly, and Harry goes at once to open the wardrobe door it's attached to, stands there with his drink and his silk pyjamas and his stupid, wonderful grin. "Please for the love of god invite him round for a drink before you both combust."

"Are you staying?"

"Find out if he's open to it and call me back."

"What if he's not?"

"Then I'll get a good six hours sleep knowing you're in amateur but enthusiastic hands."

"Right." Harry preens in the mirror for a moment, combing his fingers through the damp curls of his hair until he's satisfied they're the right sort of messy. He looks gloriously debauched already, bright eyes and flushed, dimpled cheeks. "Let's not count chickens. It's quite possible he only—"

"Shut up and phone him, will you? I'll be here if you need me."

He mutes and minimises Harry's feed, and goes to the bar to get a drink of his own. Whichever way this goes, he's fairly sure he's going to need it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's eager now – god, he might as well be humping Harry's leg like a puppy already – and amused, teasing. Eggsy's always been Harry's dirty little obsession, the Cinderella boy who turned from an idle project to a precious treasure within the first day of their meeting, but Merlin's fond of him too. Saving the world together counts for a lot. Turns out imagining how happy he could make Harry counts for even more.

It's almost ten minutes before Gawain's little electronic chime sounds again from Merlin's speakers, and he finds he's apprehensive somehow in a way he never usually is around Harry's other partners. The people Harry sees all around the globe are mostly old friends or friends of friends, sometimes professionals, now and then complete strangers he sees in a club or on an app and likes the look of. Something about this is different – _everything_ about this is different. Higher stakes and a hell of a lot to lose.

"Merlin." Eggsy sounds curious when Merlin un-mutes him, a bit confused, and somehow like he might be about to fall out of his own skin. "Something fucking funny just happened."

"Did it," Merlin says mildly, unable to resist a smile against the rim of his whisky glass when Eggsy looks at Harry: leaning his backside against the dressing table with his pyjama shirt half-unbuttoned, hair dishevelled, mouth gone the shade of red it only ever turns after a ferocious bout of kissing. "Would you like to share with the class?"

"That's the thing, innit?" ( _Eyes up_ , Merlin tells Harry on a private line, _let me see his face, not his crotch_.) "Turns out _you_ wanna share with the class. Didn't know you was actually married, by the way. I just got kissed halfway into a fucking coma by a married man."

"Well, I've always found that particular married man submits fairly quickly if you kiss back hard enough."

"Do feel free to test this theory," Harry says nonchalantly as he's finishing his cognac. On the screen, though Harry's glasses feed, Eggsy looks like he's feeling fifty emotions at once, finally settling somewhere around the region of "bewildered", subcategory "scared but incredibly aroused".

"I did kiss back but he weren't, you know, submitting. Backed me right up against the wall and just..." He goes quiet, and then slowly takes a few steps toward Harry, hesitates, and takes a few more. Both of their faces fill the windows on Merlin's monitor: studying each other in Riga, gazing out intently at Merlin in Hertfordshire. "He said you wouldn't mind."

Harry puts his glass down somewhere, and then his hand comes into view moving from the bottom right of the frame to touch Eggsy's cheek, cup his jaw. It's reasonably rare for Harry to be like this with someone who's wearing the same recording glasses as he is. Usually Merlin gets to see what Harry sees, other faces and hands and cocks and mouths, and watches Harry himself through whatever other cameras he sets up for Merlin in the room. Harry with other Kingsman staff, or with people trusted with certain secrets, is infinitely more intimate, and this time more than any other Merlin gets the sense of watching something extraordinary burst into being: Harry's eyes on the left screen, warm with a fervent, candid sort of hope, and Eggsy's on the right, the gradual fade from disbelief to something hot and wanting.

"It's not that he doesn't mind," Harry says. His fingers move against Eggsy's skin, thumb skating gently over his cheekbone, and Eggsy's breathing turns shallow and shaky. "He actively encourages it."

"But... _why_?" The camera view tilts, Eggsy looking down now at where his fingertips are tracing the hollow at the base of Harry's throat. "If you was my, you know, anything, I'd go out my fucking mind with rage thinking about anyone else's paws on you"—which would be a bit of a problem, really, if his voice didn't sound so uncertain, if he didn't lick his lips nervously and then glance up again at Harry's eyes, Merlin's camera. "Merlin, you like sharing him?"

"I like knowing he's happy."

"Ain't he happy with you?"

The heart rate monitor on Galahad's feed window notches higher. He loves being talked about.

"Ask him."

"Alright." Merlin sees the slow slide of Eggsy's hand move into view, travelling around the side of Harry's neck, presumably to stroke the back of his hair. "You love Merlin?"

"Of course."

"But you wanna kiss other people."

"Frequently."

Quiet, awestruck: "You wanna kiss _me_?"

"I think of very little else these days."

"So..." He pauses, wets his lips again, takes a moment to study every bit of Harry's face as if he's looking for signs of madness or a cruel joke. "What's in it for Merlin?"

Harry shrugs lazily, eyes creasing when he smiles. "Ask him."

"Merlin," Eggsy says – then he startles and laughs softly, heart rate jumping on the screen statistics. "You got room cameras or just our glasses? Harry just"—he looks down, showing Merlin where Harry's hands have closed tight around his hips, fingers pressing in where the black of his t-shirt meets the grey fabric of his trackies—"fucking manhandled me."

"Would it bother you if there were cameras?"

"That ain't an answer." He pauses, as though he's waiting for Merlin to say something, then adds in a low murmur, "No."

Another tilting movement on the screen, one of Harry's hands coming up to Eggsy's chin and raising his face until they're eye to eye again. "No cameras, only the glasses. And we'll turn those off at once if you'd rather."

"So, if I wanna ditch the glasses I'm still allowed to stay." Harry nods, and Eggsy looks thoughtful even through the wild new fever in his eyes. "And if I say the glasses are okay then Merlin watches someone get off with his bloke."

"That's more or less the idea of it, yes."

"What's the more, and what's the less?"

He's eager now – god, he might as well be humping Harry's leg like a puppy already – and amused, teasing. Eggsy's always been Harry's dirty little obsession, the Cinderella boy who turned from an idle project to a precious treasure within the first day of their meeting, but Merlin's fond of him too. Saving the world together counts for a lot. Turns out imagining how happy he could make Harry counts for even more.

"Well," Harry says slowly – then he moves closer, muddling both glasses feeds to a clumsy mess of too-close skin and hair and clothing when he starts kissing Eggsy's neck. For a while that's all there is, abstract shifting motion on screen accompanied by the loveliest little sounds from both of them – Harry's unsteady breathing, Eggsy's blasphemous whispers – until Harry speaks again, voice rough and low with desire. "What if he makes requests? Or, if you're game, commands?"

"Fuck yeah," Eggsy says immediately, "are you for real, _yes_ , holy fuck." He pulls back then and both of their faces return to focus on the screen, flushed and rumpled and starry-eyed with matching wet kissed-red mouths. "You gotta tell me, Merlin, I have to know."

Merlin never contaminates his good whisky with ice but he's almost wishing for it now, pressing the empty glass against his suddenly burning cheek and not finding it cool enough to do a damn thing to help. Somehow when he speaks his voice is as calm and steady as ever. "What do you have to know?"

" _Everything_." It's there in Eggsy's eyes, a rapturous rebirth as plain as the one that took him over when he put on Harry's first gift back on V-Day. "We're gonna fucking blow his mind, yeah, me and you?"

Merlin takes a screencap of Harry's idiotic look of surprise to set as his phone contact later.

"I believe we are," he says, pouring himself another drink. "Shall we begin?"

It starts with top half clothing, Harry dragging Eggsy's t-shirt over his head while Eggsy nimbly unfastens Harry's pyjama buttons and pushes the silk back over his shoulders. Harry pulls away for a minute then, apologising desperately for the inconvenience like a fumbling turned-on train announcer, and finds the box of video bugs in his holdall. One of the perks of being married to the head of tech, he discovered several years ago: a certain amount of handwaving about missing company supplies. Between them they bug the room, giving Merlin an additional eight views so he has to turn on another monitor to accommodate them all, and then tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing frantically as though they're expecting Merlin to tell them their time's up. There's something fascinating about their appetite for one another: it's nothing new, really – Harry could kiss for England if they found some way to make it a judgeable sport, and relishes any chance he can get to practice – but the adoring looks Harry gives the lad every time they pause for breath are as rare as red diamonds.

Merlin gives them five minutes, using the time to pan and zoom all his bugs until he's happy with their placement, then says, "Stop," and waits for them to reluctantly pull apart and straighten their crooked glasses. "Harry, on your back. Eggsy, I want to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" Eggsy says, grinning, cheeky.

"Wipe that smirk off and do exactly as I say, please."

"Right. Sorry."

"Pick a place," Merlin tells him, "anywhere you like, but don't touch him."

Through Harry's glasses feed, Merlin sees Eggsy's eyes moving and knows exactly what he's seeing: scars on golden skin; soft ridges of retrained muscle; the glorious way Harry flushes when he knows he's about to get what he wants. "Here?" Eggsy asks, soft and uncertain. Merlin watches the boy's shaking fingertips hover an inch or two above Harry's collarbone.

"Very good." Merlin hears a quick intake of breath at that, a shaky exhale, and drops his voice to a low murmur just to see what happens. "Good boy, Eggsy."

"Fuck," Eggsy mutters, "oh my god, fuck," and stares straight at Harry, at Merlin through Harry. "Okay, what now?"

"Nothing," Merlin tells him, and watches Eggsy's eyebrows flicker in confusion. "Pick another place."

"Here?" Eggsy checks, sliding a little way down the bed to kneel between Harry's sprawled legs, pointing at the place just above his navel.

"Good choice." Eggsy looks vaguely disappointed at that; must have been hoping for a word other than 'choice'. _Tease_ , Harry finger-spells at Merlin. "But don't touch him."

The camera feed dips when Eggsy nods his head. Merlin watches his fingers trace the line of soft hair leading down to Harry's pyjama trousers, never actually making contact. Eggsy's got his lower lip caught between his teeth as though he's concentrating, hand moving lower and hovering a hair's breadth above where Harry's cock is heavy, half-hard, wearing the taut silk of his pyjamas like a second skin.

"Hands up, Eggsy. Harry, turn over for me."

He watches Harry move in quarter turns, first onto his side and then stretching out languidly on his front like a spoiled cat begging to be petted. Not too far away from the truth, really.

"Pick another place."

"Here," Eggsy says immediately, gesturing to the dimples at the bottom of Harry's spine. His whole hand rests there for a moment, a centimetre of space between his skin and Harry's, then he lifts his wrist and starts drawing gentle little swirling patterns in the air with one single fingertip. "Fuck, I know it's probably in my head but I swear I can feel how warm he is from here."

Harry makes a soft little stunned sound at that, pressing his face into the pillow. Merlin knows how much it costs him not to lurch up into this kind of almost-touch; the time he kept it up for the entire length of The Fellowship of the Ring, Harry naked and draped across his lap on the sofa, Harry was begging by Rivendell and outright sobbing by Lothlórien, and came crying when Merlin finally ran a fingertip down his spine at the credits.

"You're doing beautifully. Both of you.

"Fuck," Eggsy murmurs again, sounding fascinated by the writhe and twist of Harry's back as he slowly starts to lose his mind.

It's almost half an hour before Harry finally says please.

"Don't touch him," Merlin says softly. Eggsy hesitates with his fingertips drawing spirals in the air just above Harry's scapula, head tilted slightly to one side as though he's waiting for more. "You mustn't let him have anything the first time he asks for it. Give him an inch and he'll take a mile, goes the saying."

"Yeah, I got six inches I wanna give him," Eggsy says with his mouth right by Harry's ear, and Merlin downs his entire drink in one shaky swallow.

"What do you think about that, Harry?"

"Please." His voice is muffled in the pillow, screen dark where his glasses are pressed there, until Merlin tells him to turn his head and speak nicely. "Please," he says again, clearer but devastatingly quiet, imploring gaze fixed on Eggsy's eyes so Merlin can see the fluttery way he's blinking and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

"Stay still for me," he says, and Harry freezes, silent and barely seeming to breathe. "Eggsy – touch him. One fingertip, stroke him as gentle as you can. Watch what happens."

The glasses camera refocuses automatically when Eggsy leans in, filling the screen with Harry's upper back and shoulders – the glimmer of sweat, every pore and freckle, every scar from old gunshot wounds to the ghost marks of Merlin's favourite flogger. When Eggsy touches him, forefinger dragging a lingering line from the nape of Harry's neck to a spot between his shoulder blades, Merlin can see in perfect high definition the sudden thrilling rush of goosebumps bursting up and marring the beloved skin just below his damp hair.

"Oh," Eggsy says softly, inflected like he's just found god.

" _That_ is why we say no to him."

"Yeah, I think I got it. Fucking hell."

" _Please_ ," Harry says again, impatient and frustrated. He raises himself up a little way on his forearms, chasing the touch of Eggsy's fingertips again, but as Merlin watches Eggsy moves both hands behind his back and – fast learner – softly, firmly says _no_.

"Thought I heard Merlin telling you to stay still." Harry subsides with a quiet groan and a quieter apology, tucking his face back into the dent he's made in the pillow. Merlin's got goosebumps of his own suddenly, a hot flickering rush of them down both his arms. Full of surprises indeed.

"I'd advise tying him down," Merlin says, watching with amusement as Harry's head moves back up like an interested meerkat, "but there's not a lot Houdini there can't break out of." He mutes Harry's speaker, and adds to Eggsy, "Try this for me. Put his hands anywhere you want them, on the pillow or wrapped around the bars, and tell him not to move. Tell him you'll stop and go back to your room if he moves."

Eggsy exhales noisily, nods his head, and Merlin watches him close his fingers around Harry's wrists and shift him until both palms are flat against the mattress either side of his head. "Harry, love," he says with his mouth just a whisper away from Harry's ear, and Merlin turns up the volume until the sound of Harry's panting breaths could be right there in the room with him. He half-expected Eggsy to play act at being harsh, some Fifty Shades amateur nonsense Merlin was sort of looking forward to correcting, but the boy's picked up a soft, crooning sort of tone from god knows where – from the deepest locked place in Harry's psyche, possibly, if his thunderous heartrate is anything to go by. "Listen to me, babe, yeah? I wanna see you keep them hands exactly where I put them, you got me? Be good for me and Merlin or I'm going back next door."

"Anything," Harry tells him a hoarse little whisper. "Anything you want."

"Anything Merlin wants," Eggsy reminds him, glancing up at the nearest bug and dropping a wink, looking like he's fighting a smile again. He's so like Harry was at the same age: a maddening overabundance of charm, an endless capacity to surprise, and, so it seems, an enthusiasm for the sweeter side of depravity. It's no wonder Harry finds him so attractive, narcissistic bugger.

(Merlin catches himself wondering whether the boy has any aptitude for the less sweet end of the spectrum too, but all in good time.)

"About those inches you offered," he says casually, and sees Harry wriggle against the sheets in happy anticipation. Merlin can _see_ them distorting the jersey front of Eggsy's trackies. It's not enough. "Trousers off for me, Eggsy. Harry, you can turn your head and look."

Eggsy strips off slowly; nervous at the audience or playing to it, Merlin can't tell because he can't stop watching Harry's face. He zooms in closer on two of the windows and docks them beside Eggsy's glasses feed to get the best possible view: Harry looks blushing and feverish, damp with sweat from the torturous teasing earlier, gazing open-mouthed and hungry as Eggsy shoves his trousers down and kicks them off his feet. In four of the video windows and Harry's glasses feed Merlin can see the glorious hard curve of Eggsy's cock now, pretty and flushed and already dripping wet. It's clear he's not going to last very much longer, and while there's a strange sort of sick thrill in the idea of someone as swaggering and brash as Eggsy humiliating himself by finishing before he's even started fucking, that's probably not the best plan, not least for the absolute tantrum Harry will throw if he's been worked up this high and doesn't get decently screwed at the end of it.

"Eggsy, do you need to come?"

It makes him grin, surprised rather than amused. "Well don't mince words or nothing, I can take plain talk."

"Do you?"

He looks vaguely embarrassed, but too turned on to care very much. "Been ready to nut like an hour now, if I'm honest."

"If you do, will you be able to go again?"

"Have you fucking seen who you're married to, guv? I'll go fifteen times before midnight if you tell us what we need to do."

That's an idea to file away in his memory and return to another time, from the pathetic way Harry moans and tries to turn it into believable laughter. But for now...

"Harry, you can move your hands. Onto your back for me." He pauses, watching Harry turn: all lean muscle and scarred skin, gorgeous and flawed, a hunted old tiger that no trap could ever hold. Eggsy's watching too, staring at him wide-eyed and breathless like he's something magnificent on the wall of an art gallery. He's so enthralled – perfectly understandable; Merlin feels exactly the same, every single day, and it's been thirty-two years – that Merlin has to say his name twice to get his attention.

"Sorry," Eggsy says hastily. He scrubs his open palms over his face, swiping away the gleam of sweat at his temples.

"Don't be sorry. Look at him all you like. Then, when you're ready"—zooming in on both of their faces to catch their reactions when he fires both barrels—"you're going to place his hands like before, you're going to fuck his mouth until you come, then you're going to fuck his arse until you come again."

Eggsy, eager little shit, is already climbing on board a nanosecond after the order, although he's still uncertain enough to say, "Harry, is this alright?" even as he's settling his knees either side of Harry's head, even as Harry's staring up at him with the most gormless open look of adoration Merlin's ever seen on a human. He's seen it on Mr Pickle and JB, but not a human.

"Just do as Merlin says, darling."

Eggsy nods, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing at the go ahead. "Merlin? Am I allowed to put his hands, you know, on _me_?"

"Anywhere you like."

"Fucking sick," Eggsy proclaims – which is youth for 'wonderful, thank you' apparently? – and spreads Harry's hands firmly over his backside, sliding his pretty wet cock into Harry's waiting mouth.

Merlin pours another whisky and sits back to enjoy the show.


End file.
